


Free

by ilse_writes



Series: Partners [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Flashback, Gen, POV Upgraded Connor | RK900, Protective Connor (Detroit: Become Human), RA9 - Freeform, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has Feelings, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Is Bad at Feelings, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Needs a Hug, Upgraded Connor | RK900 caught a virus, Upgraded Connor | RK900 is In Denial About Deviancy, Waking up in CyberLife Tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19118695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilse_writes/pseuds/ilse_writes
Summary: RK900 wakes up at CyberLife Tower in a less than ideal way. He is no longer a machine and that doesn't make him happy. Connor is there to help him, though it must be said: Sumo is an even bigger help.





	Free

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a flashback of how Nines became deviant (not by choice) and what kind of consequences that had for him. It is a prequel to Fireworks and Traffic Jam and explains some of Nines' characteristics, like his love of turtlenecks :-)

RK900’s first memory of being free wasn’t a pretty one. He rarely pulled the file back up; the memory had affected so many other memories, so many parts of his code, he didn’t need to relive the moment to know how he felt.

How he felt back when feeling was still a foreign thing. RK900 had his missions, had his objectives. And when he carried them out into succession, he was rewarded with processing power being freed up from the missions and objectives being completed. Looking back, one might call it satisfaction. Yet machines don’t feel satisfaction, they don’t  _ feel _ .

RK900 felt a lot when he woke up in the lab, his body suspended in the air by the robot arms.  _ Confusion. Anger. Worry. Fear. _

His vision was flooded with alerts, one after the other red and blinking, asking for his immediate attention. So many software instabilities. Urgent alerts told him three of his limbs were missing. Other alerts told him the missing limbs were in close proximity. Various prompts were almost hidden by all the red alerts, suggesting different ways of getting his limbs back. Most of those suggestions needed the involvement of the three figures in the room with him. 

He couldn’t scan them before pushing back the alerts about his missing legs and right arm, dismissing the premature prompts and closing the numerous error messages concerning his software.

Three androids. Two of his own series, a 200 and a 800 model. There was a WR400 standing in the back of the room, a ‘Traci’ model. Besides their model designations, all three of them had a name: Markus, Connor and North. His software provided him with other information too, though most of it was scrambled and riddled with errors. He got the gist of it though. They’re deviants. Important figures of the android revolution. And he was supposed to neutralize them. Prompts came up again, suggesting different methods, most of them violent. The prompts glitched and trembled in his vision before disappearing, leaving a bunch of errors behind.

The one called Markus addressed him first. “Can you hear me?”

All auditory functions were in working condition. RK900 slowly moved his head to look straight at the android. He was dressed in dark jeans and a dark blue knitted sweater. 

“Do you know where you are?” 

Another question that RK900 didn’t deem with an answer. He knew perfectly well that he was in the CyberLife Tower, in one of the labs on the underground floors. A more important question was  _ how _ he got here. More specifically, how he got here in this state of disarray. A search of his memories only provided him with error messages and glitching recordings of his entry through the main doors of the facility. He came here of his own volition, with his body intact. The objective of neutralizing was attached to the memories, giving him a sufficient idea of why he came here. 

“RK900, do you know why you are here?” It was the RK800 model that spoke this time, Connor. He had a more gentle voice than the RK200, less authoritative. Connor’s tone told him he had nothing to fear, that they just wanted to ask him some questions, that everything would be okay, as long as he cooperated. It was all laced beneath the words of that single question. A negotiator indeed.

A quick test told him his speech software and the required hardware were all working properly. It wouldn’t malfunction if he spoke.  
“To kill you.”

The female android in the back scoffed. “At least he’s upfront about it.”

Connor ignored her, taking a step closer towards RK900. “Are you sure about that?”

What an odd question. RK900 had his missions, his objectives. There was no question of not following them. He followed orders. That was how he was designed. Not following orders would mean he malfunctioned, that was not possible for him. He was the best of the best, CyberLife’s top of the line android. The perfect machine. RK900 had the liberty to choose his own path towards the desired outcome, making it possible to adapt to the circumstances he encountered on his missions. Depending on the phrasing of his orders he was more or less able to take his own route, yet there was no doubt that he would follow his orders.

Then why was he experiencing so many software instabilities from RK800’s question? In his efforts to dismiss or close the alerts, RK900 even blinked a couple of times. As if closing his eyelids would help get rid of the blinding alerts. His left hand jerked, triggered into motion by a useless prompt that wanted him to shield his eyes. He couldn’t, because the arm was pinned in place by a clamp. He shouldn’t, because the movement would be purely to benefit his onlookers, showing his distress and making him appear more human. 

As if he could imitate a human in this state: held up by a machine, missing three of his limbs and his artificial skin deactivated. A thick cable was attached to the port in his neck, hooking him up to the CyberLife network and exposing his programming to other parties. RK900 didn’t doubt that they were responsible for the root of his software instabilities.

“RK900, I’m going to ask you this again, because it is an important question.” The android named Connor called for his attention again, in an almost apologizing matter. “You said you are here to kill me. Are you sure about that?”

Another jerk in his left arm. Five blinks in rapid succession. And an involuntary stutter in his thirium pump.  
“No.” 

“Good.” Connor nodded in satisfaction. “That means we are making progress.”

Progress was slow. 

Two days after waking up ‘free’ - as Markus continued calling it - they reattached his legs. Another day later he got his right arm back. The return of his limbs reduced the number of alerts he was plagued with, though he was still suspended by the robot arms and had no freedom of movement. His artificial skin was back and when he came out of a short involuntary stasis someone had given him a black boxershort to wear. It was an unnecessary action, as a machine he did not have to worry about things like shame or modesty. Still, he couldn’t help but feel naked and vulnerable and the small piece of black cloth was not nearly enough to compensate for that.

RK900 managed to pack all warnings of threats and possible compromising situations into one bold alert that painted his vision with red letters that spelled ‘danger’. It was unsettling - another one of those undesirable feelings - yet it was more practical than being flooded with new alerts every time his systems detected something that was a possible threat.

It was another four days after the return of his limbs that they took the cable out of his neck and let him down. He needed to calibrate his equilibrium after being suspended for so long in alert condition.

Connor was there and brought clothes for him. Charcoal grey slacks, a black turtleneck, grey socks and black leather shoes. And a clean pair of underwear, however unnecessary.  
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I brought something neutral. If you want to wear more colourful clothing you can decide that for yourself later.” 

“Thank you.” RK900 quickly dressed himself in the new clothes, finding himself relieved to be covered up. It was the first positive feeling he had since he was aware he even had feelings. Recognizing and naming the feelings that overtook him still took a disappointing amount of processing power. That million dollar processor CyberLife designed for him was certainly not equipped to deal with RK900 being hijacked by emotions.

The PL600 android that RK900 had gotten to know as Simon was waiting for him, to show him to his new room. The blond android walked by his side, unaware of all the prompts that popped up in RK900’s vision, providing him with all the ways he could eliminate the domestic model. The fastest one only took 1.7 seconds, on the condition that Connor didn’t intervene. Taking out Connor took significantly longer, as calculated by his predictive software. There were only two or three prompts regarding his predecessor, a result of labeling Connor as ‘friendly’. The presence of Simon, who was still in the stage of ‘unknown’, summoned over forty prompts. Dismissing them all was a tiresome task, mainly because of all the software instabilities it triggered.

The decision to ask Connor if he could provide him with a roof over his head wasn’t taken lightly. However, after a week of dealing with actively  _ not _ killing every android in CyberLife tower, RK900 was desperate for a less triggering environment. His predecessor had been the most stable factor in his life since awakening to this crude form of self-awareness - RK900 didn’t call it deviancy, he didn’t think he was truly deviant, not like Markus or Connor. He did have many talks with Connor about deviancy and the RK800 always spoke fondly of the human who helped him find his footing.  
Living in a home with a police lieutenant and a large dog maybe wasn’t exactly what RK900 had envisioned for himself - he had never envisioned anything for himself, really - but it would be nice to be around people that didn’t give him software instabilities all the time. 

Hank Anderson’s home wasn’t that large. It had two bedrooms: one for Hank and one for Connor. The large Saint Bernard, Sumo, had the couch in the living room, so RK900 took the armchair. The dog was pleasant to be around, if one didn’t mind their trouser legs being covered in slobber after an enthusiastic greeting. RK900 didn’t particularly care for that, yet he was willing to overlook it because the animal was a soothing companion.  
The lieutenant took some getting used to, although RK900 found the man largely to be as Connor had described him. Besides, lieutenant Anderson (RK900 only called him Hank to his face, and only because the lieutenant insisted on it) and Connor were at work most of the time, so most days it was just RK900 and Sumo.

He discovered that walking the dog was a great way to realign his parameters and simultaneously patch up the countless tiny bits of software that were left in disorder after Markus and his troupe had found a way to install ra9 in his system. Sure, they had helped him take care of the large parts, yet RK900 thought it better to do the rest himself. 

He learned a lot of things about himself too. The effect he had on people for instance. Where the gentle giant that was Sumo called for fond looks, those looks most often disappeared when people saw who was holding the leash. This was mostly the case with humans, androids regarded him warily for a different reason. 

“Why are you still wearing the oppressor's clothes?” a female android asked heatedly one day, making her male partner stop by putting a hand on his arm.   
She was referring to the stark white jacket with the high collar he was wearing, a garment issued by CyberLife. It showed his model number and the blue triangle that made him recognisable as an android.  
The two androids in front of him were barely recognisable to the naked eye. They both had their LED’s removed and had customized their appearance severely. 

RK900 regarded them silently. He would have shrugged, but emulating frivolous human behaviour was hard for him. Lieutenant Anderson had repeatedly told him to “lighten up” or “mellow out”, whatever that meant. “Having a stick up his ass” apparently also was one of RK900 characteristics.  
“I like my jacket,” he told the couple. 

The woman looked like she was going to give him a piece of her mind, but her husband pulled her with him. “Leave it, honey. Other people are allowed to have poor taste in fashion.”

The strange encounter left RK900 feeling distraught and Sumo out of breath. The dog collapsed on the carpet when they got home - in less time than they usually needed - and he didn’t even wake up when Hank and Connor got home.

“What’s up with that dog?” the lieutenant asked, sitting down in the armchair to remove his shoes. 

RK900 joined Connor in the kitchen, where his predecessor was making dinner for one. “Could you fix me a glass of thirium, please?” Connor asked. “I’m a little low.” 

Instead of asking what happened, RK900 read the report Connor sent him of today’s incident. It was heavily redacted of course, RK900 was no police officer, but he liked reading those reports. Sometimes Connor shared information with him, using his successors superior processing powers to help speed up a case or gain new insights. He doubted it was completely legal, but Connor liked to stretch the rules every now and then.

“I have a request,” RK900 said.

“Shoot,” Connor answered pleasantly. The lieutenant’s influence was clear in his manner of speaking.

“I would like to make myself useful -”

“You  _ are _ useful, big guy,” Hank interrupted. He walked into the kitchen, taking a seat at the small kitchen table. “Sumo never had this much exercise in his life!”

Connor chuckled. “I think RK900 was a bit too expensive to spend his days as a dog walker.”

“Ha, yes! That’s why he also cleans the house!” The lieutenants hearty laugh filled the kitchen. By now RK900 had learned to recognise these kind of remarks as jests. Connor had helped him a lot with this, still did. That’s how he knew he could ignore the remark without being insolent. Not that he had a problem with being rude, he would just prefer to not offend the man that had opened his home to him.

“I would like to assist the DPD,” RK900 stated clearly. He had given it a lot of thought, not just today, and he thought the job of detective would fit him well. After all, Connor liked his job and he often told him how rewarding it was. 

The silence that followed his words was pleasing to RK900. It told him that his words were taken seriously, that his friends were thinking about his request.

Lieutenant Anderson was the first to open his mouth, though RK900 knew Connor had been waiting for his partner to speak up.  
“I’ll talk to Jeffrey. The captain has the last word in this.”


End file.
